


Silence of the Rift

by Faerie_of_the_Moonlight



Series: FrUK Oneshots [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Skyrim AU, Thieves Guild, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 05:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14301459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faerie_of_the_Moonlight/pseuds/Faerie_of_the_Moonlight
Summary: Arthur lives in Riften, spending most of his time reading in the market center and the rest of it sleeping in the Bee and Barb. Marceau is a thief who is visiting Riften and happens to spot the young Breton in the center of the city. It was easy enough to track him back to the inn. But when his planned robbery is sabotaged, he has to rethink his plans. Fortunately, his is given what could very well be the opportunity of a lifetime. If only he can survive Arthur's bad attitude and get through the trip.Warning: France has an alternate name (Marceau) Better notes inside.





	Silence of the Rift

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or Skyrim.
> 
> Hello there, few readers~ ~I take requests for FRUK oneshots~
> 
> I now have a tumblr where I write short ficlets and reblog random crap I like. @faerie-of-the-moonlight
> 
> Because I've returned back to Skyrim after finally having a decent laptop to be able to play and mod it, I decided to writ a Skyrim AU oneshot. I never really see any AU's of the Elder Scrolls in the Hetalia fandom, so I made one up myself. I did a lot of research for some things that didn't even come up, but... I still enjoyed the "work."  
> Fair warning, I changed France's name because I just really do not like Francis. It's cheesy and makes me think of an old lady. I do understand, however, if this puts people off. If you don't like this change, I won't be offended. Just don't post hate comments or ask me not to.  
> Also, for anyone who is not familiar with Elder Scrolls, I do have notes at the end with generalizations of things that stuck out to me as needing explanation. I repeat that these are generalizations and may not be entirely accurate with the lore. I was more concerned with making it understandable to people who only came for Hetalia.
> 
> Also, I suck at pacing. Sorry if things feel... rushed.

_Song of the Alchemists(1)_ rested heavily against his knees and there was a chill on his face. As always, the breeze had a nip to it. He didn’t necessarily hate Skyrim(2), but the constant cold weather started to get old after so many years. Especially as someone who grew up in a warm place like High Rock(3). At least Riften(4) was more pleasant than some of the other cities.

It might have had an issue with thievery and bribery, but it didn’t bother him in the least. He grew up surrounded by worse and the people weren’t too bad. At least the thieves just took money and valuables and didn’t kill people. The Dark Brotherhood(5) didn’t have much of a presence in the city, after all.

Despite seeming like a bit of a rundown city to outsiders, Riften was a bustling city. Enough people lived there that the center of the city was regularly full of shoppers―it held the main stores and street vendors.

Amidst all the people, he was sitting on a small wall around a recessed area with a well. The vendor nearest to him was selling his snake-oil potion to unsuspecting visitors. Anyone who lived in the city was smart enough not to buy anything from the man, as he was heavily suspected to be a part of the Thieves Guild.

Arthur knew for a fact the man was and pitied the unaware shoppers. Many of them were probably also having their pockets picked as they milled about. So unaware of what was going on around them.

Even if he wasn’t much better, normally getting lost in his books, he at least kept nothing of any real value on him. Nothing a pickpocket could get off of him anyway. Someone would have to be absurdly bold to go for the necklace he wore. They would also have to know what it was worth and very few people would have been able to do that.

He stayed on the wall until the sun started to set. With his natural light dwindling, he would have to go inside to keep reading. Since he spent most of his time doing exactly that, it was an old routine that was almost mechanical.

Within a couple minutes, he was sitting in a corner of the Bee & Barb and went back to reading. Since the inn had a bar, it got horrendously noisy, but Arthur was able to block it out with enough determination. He slept at the inn, after all, so it was necessary for him.

As he was reading, people didn’t usually bother him. They saw him reading and suitably ignored him. Even when a fight broke out, he was able to keep to himself. It helped that the owners, an Argonian(6) couple, were quick to react and nip things in the bud.

When he felt someone sit down next to him, he paused briefly before looking up. To his surprise, a young man with shoulder-length blonde hair and bright blue eyes. The mystery man looked back at him with a friendly smile. After a delay, Arthur went back to his book, barely blinking at the man.

He didn’t know why the man sat next to him, but he didn’t care. If he ignored him, maybe he would either go away or not try to engage with him. Arthur wasn’t sure why, but there was something about the man that seemed familiar. He was probably just a recent regular to the inn. It attracted a lot of traffic from residents and travelers both and Arthur didn’t normally pay that much attention.

Sometime later, the man did speak to him, much to Arthur’s disappointment. “This noisy inn seems like an odd place to read. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a drink? I can buy.”

Glancing back up for a moment, Arthur paused before shaking his head. There was a faint blush dusting his cheeks, but his eyes also showed mistrust. He wasn’t about to drop his walls and let this stranger buy him something.

The stranger faltered for a moment before regaining his easy smile. There was something about that smile that Arthur didn’t trust. “Sorry. I should probably introduce myself first, right? I’m Marceau,” he said, holding his hand out. When Arthur only blandly raised an eyebrow at him, he was highly confused. “Erm…”

“He doesn’t speak, lad,” someone else said from nearby. Marceau turned to see a red-haired man with a slight smirk standing against the wall.

“He… doesn’t speak?” Marceau repeated. Did that mean he chose not to speak or that he couldn’t?

“Aye, Arthur here is a mute, and a suspicious one at that. So I don’t think your plan had a chance hell,” the man told him with a light chuckle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marceau snorted. He tried to ignore the knowing look the newcomer was giving him and the annoyed one Arthur was drilling into the back of his head.

“Now, you don’t look blind, but you are acting like it. Thieves should be the first to recognize each other.”

“Hold on just a―”

The man smoothly interrupted him, even shrugging as if most of the city’s occupants were thieves. “Ain’t nothing wrong with it, not here in Riften, after all. I could see you a mile away, though, eyein’ Arthur’s necklace. You may want to work on your subtlety.”

Before Marceau could protest, he was whacked upside with a painfully thick book and left cursing while Arthur walked away. There would surely be a lump on the back of his head in the morning. What the hell had he been reading? “Thank you for that. I should make a point of telling the market that you’re selling snake oil to them.”

“There’s no need for that. I’m just doing part of my job, lad. Besides, Arthur would’ve burnt you to Oblivion and back if ya had taken it,” the man told him.

“He’s a mage?” There was something different about the way he carried himself, but that could’ve been any number of things. It could’ve been that he was mute, that he was a mage, or just that he had no trust for people.

“One that’s… associated with the Thieves Guild, so I wouldn’t suggest messing with him too much.”

Well, shit. There had been no way for him to know that. He had almost stepped in a massive amount of trouble. A few years ago, the Thieves Guild didn’t have much of a presence, but they had recently regained their renown and infamy. It was almost as bad as crossing the Dark Brotherhood―almost but not quite.

“I… I see. I suppose I’ll find another way to make some gold,” Marceau said, sighing. He was struggling to make money since coming to Skyrim, even if it was still a better option than staying in Cyrodiil. Having a plan dashed was just going to hurt his meals even more.

“You’re a good thief, I can tell. Why don’t you come to the Ragged Flagon tomorrow and we can talk more about business?” he suggested. Of course there was no questioning where the Ragged Flagon was. Enough people talked about the Ratway under the city that it was quite obvious.

“And why would I do that? You haven’t even introduced yourself,” Marceau pointed out dryly. He was smart enough not to blindly trust people.

“Fair enough. My name’s Brynjolf. If you’re interested in making some gold, then make your way down and pay a visit,” the man said before walking away. Even though the inn wasn’t packed to the brim with people, Brynjolf still blended in with the crowd in an instant. The skill was startling.

 

Normally, Arthur spent his morning and afternoon at the well. Not in the Ragged Flagon. But Brynjolf had been a bit insistent and there was also the matter of the guards closing down the area due to a murder last night. Nothing too shocking, really, with the civil war still ongoing.

He wasn’t exactly happy when he saw the would-be thief from the previous night waltz in around half-day. Brynjolf only shrugged with a bemused smile when Arthur glared at him. It was surely part of some plan Brynjolf has set up in his head, but no one could guess what that meant. It could be amazing or horrendous. It depended on luck most of the time.

“Lighten up. You know how hard it can be for a thief,” Brynjolf reminded him. “And I’d be a fool not to take the chance of recruiting someone who got by you.” Before Arthur could (somehow) argue about it, Brynjolf waved Marceau over and completely ignored any objections Arthur might’ve had. “You made it in one piece. I’m impressed.”

“It was harder to get pass all the guards than it was to find my way here,” Marceau scoffed as he came within earshot. “So what is this business you have?”

Brynjolf started off a touch vague, saying, “Well, you’re a damn good thief and we always have room for new members. But I have to make sure you’ve got the skill. And not in just picking locks and pockets. Social skills are just as important as being able to break out of jail.”

“I understand,” Marceau nodded, though he still didn’t understand where this was going. But he wasn’t about to pass up this chance if it looked like it would work out. The Thieves Guild promised stability that bouncing from city to city couldn’t ever offer. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“Oh, it’s easy. You’re going to escort Arthur to pick up a shipment for us.” Both of them gave Brynjolf stunned looks, but Arthur was the one to whack the bar (ignoring Vekel’s protest) and give Brynjolf a harsh look.

“Erm… I’m not so sure that’s the best idea. I wouldn’t say he… likes me exactly. That sounds like a disaster,” Marceau said, taking note of the look Arthur had given him.

“But that’s exactly why it’s the best way to test you. Think of it this way, if you can get through this with Arthur and come back in one-piece, then you can get along with just about anyone here,” he stated. From him, it sounded perfectly logical (maybe), but that still didn’t mean Arthur had to be happy about it.

“Ah, I suppose,” Marceau sighed. It sounded like a bad idea, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. He was new in Riften, but he still understood that the Thieves Guild controlled it and he didn’t want to somehow end up on their bad side. “Where is this ‘shipment,’ then?”

“Dawnstar. Arthur, you know our contact there. Try not to kill him,” Brynjolf said in a more pointed tone towards Arthur.

While Arthur gave a noncommittal shrug and sipped from a bottle of mead, Marceau raised an eyebrow. “I take it there’s… history? Why send Arthur if it’s a risk…?”

“Ah… To get the contact to cooperate. He’s a stubborn bastard and a scheming one, but he’s damn good at what he does. So long as you can get here and back without killing anyone other than bandits, I don’t care too much what you do.” That was the given for any Guild job. Don’t kill anyone you shouldn’t and don’t get caught. Those were about the only two rules.

 

There was a tenseness between them once they got outside the city gates. It was clear that Arthur wasn’t happy about the arrangement and Marceau wasn’t sure how to work with someone he had tried to scam (a little bit). It may just be a test outing, but there was still pressure and awkwardness.

The trip to Dawnstar would take half a day at least. There was no accounting for the weather or bandits or, if they were really unlucky, dragons. The weather could just be assumed to be cold and miserable no matter what, but what the road was always a crapshoot. They could come across no one at all or run into a problem every 3rd hour.

When they got past Fort Greenwall, Arthur stopped Marceau and sighed. In that moment, Marceau could see that he was hesitant and possible anxious. It was then that he saw just how young Arthur was. “What is it?” Marceau asked, though he wasn’t sure how Arthur would respond.

Arthur had a begrudging expression when he touched two fingers to Marceau’s forehead. He only realized afterwards that Arthur’s fingers had a faint glow to him. Instantly, he recognized it as magic. Nothing felt different, but his guard immediately went up.

“What did you do?” he asked with a scowl.

“ _This was hardly going to work if we couldn’t communicate. It’s just a simple illusion spell so you can hear my ‘voice.’ At least what my voice might sound like._ ” The voice bouncing around in Marceau’s ears sounded young and quiet. There was a faint oddness to it, likely due to it being an illusion.

“Wh―How are you doing that?” Marceau asked. Was it just that he can hear Arthur’s “voice” or was it a mind-reading spell?

“ _Like I said, it’s an illusion spell. You’re hearing what I remember my voice being before I lost it,_ ” Arthur “said.” It was a strange workaround for his muteness, but it was effective. Though tiring if he kept up a conversation for too long.

“So it’s just… an… echo?” Marceau asked, confused. He knew magic could potentially do anything imaginable, but the idea was odd.

“ _Something like that. Don’t waste too much time worrying about the details. Let’s get going. Maybe we can get to Kynesgrove at a reasonable hour._ ” Even though he could talk in a way, Arthur still didn’t really like conversing. Other than it just sapping his energy, he wasn’t sociable.

As they moved on, Marceau realized that, in a way, he was astounded by Arthur. He couldn’t have been much more than 20―if that―and he _created_ a spell to overcome his disability. That thought he had made him wonder what had given him that disability. Obviously he wasn’t born with it as he knew what his voice used to sound like.

The walk was tedious. If only they had been able to take a carriage. They would’ve been able to, if the carriage driver hadn’t been arrested. Such miserable timing for it. But maybe that would give Arthur and Marceau a chance to… get past the awkwardness. It helped when Marceau apologized for his attempted con.

It had been a strained exchange, but Arthur was willing to let it go. If nothing else for the sake of keeping things tolerable. They had to spend a couple days together, after all. The less of that time that was spent stewing over that night. Arthur couldn’t begrudge Marceau trying to get enough gold for food, after all.

By the time the sun had set, there hadn’t been much conversation between them. It was considerably colder and any warmth they had was purely from their clothes. Fortunately, they were both experienced enough to have worn a few extra layers. They would have to pass Windhelm and Eastmarch was miserably cold in the north. A fair difference from the slight chill that the Rift had. Arthur still held onto his hatred for the cold with a deathgrip, no matter how long he lived in Skyrim.

The silence got to be too much for Marceau’s patience and he had to make some sort of conversation. “How did you end up with the Thieves Guild? I would think someone with your skill would be in the Mage’s College.”

After a delay, Arthur sighed. “ _I have no interest in the College ‘teaching’ me things I already know. It would be a waste of my time. As for the Thieves Guild… All I’m going to say on that is Brynjolf helped me out of a fucked up situation._ ”

Sensing that Arthur wouldn’t say much more about it, Marceau nodded. There was only so much a person would tell about themselves early on. Especially when there was evidently a dark past. “I see. I imagine quite a few people who end up in our positions have… troubled pasts. Though I may just be speaking for myself.”

“ _People don’t normally choose to live a life of thievery because they think it’s fun or easy. Some might, but they would be in the minority._ ” There was, in fact, one person in the Thieves Guild who gave up an easy, cushy life for the one they share now. Those stories were far and few between for a reason.

 

After that, Marceau tried a few times to talk to Arthur, since it was possible. But those attempts generally fell flat. While he responded, Arthur didn’t let anything slip about himself. Nothing personal was discussed; it seemed like Arthur was an expert in avoiding himself as a topic. There was one time when he swapped the subject around so smoothly that it took Marceau half an hour to realize what happened. It was funny and frustrating at the same time.

It wasn’t as though he was trying to pull out all of his dark secrets. Just something like his age or how long he had been with the Thieves Guild. Whenever the questions became personal, Arthur shut down.

 

By the time they made it to Kynesgrove, it was dark and miserable. Fortunately, there was someone still active to serve drinks and rent out rooms. They were lucky in that case. Marceau did have to (quietly) talk Arthur out of buying a drink, though. Somehow, he didn’t think it would do any good for either of them.

Marceau went to bed expecting that Arthur would retire as well, once he warmed up. He didn’t think, however that was just naive. It had nothing to do with being cold or tired from the trip. It was the anxiety and stress that put the urge to drink. Nothing too heavy, just something to take the edge off.

An hour and a half later, Arthur realized that maybe his “not too heavy” was a little generous. Ordering was a challenge when he was mute, but at least it didn’t take long for the man to figure it out.

When Arthur hit the two hour mark, he started to stumble over to his room. To his blurry surprise, a couple people walked in at that same time. Something in his head said to avoid their notice, but he was far too drunk to sneak away. The woman started talking up the innkeeper while the man caught Arthur by his elbow.

The man said something to him, but his head was buzzing too much to focus on the words. It was like he was underwater. Sometimes that effect of being drunk was peaceful, but that time it just hindered him. He didn’t have the capacity to protest or fight back. Being mute didn’t help him any either, if it ever could.

When the man started to drag him out the front door, some of Arthur’s instincts kicked in and he _tried_ to use magic―any spell that could possibly help. But nothing happened. He could only make quiet, non-verbal noises protesting the force. His mind kept flashing to something in his past, but he just couldn’t focus.

Marceau had a hard time processing what woke him up. When he opened his eyes, it was still pitch-black in the room. He couldn’t have been sleeping for long. But what woke him up?

After dismissing it as restlessness, he tried to go back to sleep. It wasn’t long, though, before he started to register what was, more or less, whispering. A steady, hushed, and strained mantra of, “Not again,” repeated at a frantic pace.

The alarm passed and concern set it. There was no one in his room so it had to be Arthur that he was hearing. Maybe Marceau barely knew him, but he could still be worried about the man’s well being. That was just having a conscience.

Wary and cautious, Marceau stepped out of his room to see what was going on. It was completely empty in the main room. That wasn’t right, as the fire was still going, but then he heard a hushed voice from outside as well as heavy footsteps.

After deliberating for a moment, Marceau briefly went back to his room and grabbed his dagger. He didn’t know what was going on, but it was better to be paranoid than reckless. It was clear that something was going wrong. He just had to find Arthur and figure out what.

Fortunately, Arthur was still right outside the door. It was hard to tell what was going on, but there was a man with him that had a grip on his arm hard enough to bruise. There was no doubt Arthur was drunk. He was also resisting and shaking his head while pushing the man back.

Marceau wasn’t a fool. He knew how to recognize a vampire. The man was hissing something at Arthur, but it didn’t seem to be registering at all. Being a thief, Marceau had no problem keeping his steps quiet.

He made no noise before pressing his dagger into the vampire’s neck. “I would leave if I were you. I’d rather not have to hide a body tonight.”

The vampire tensed and glared behind himself at Marceau. “Oh, I will. But I’ll be taking the brat with me,” the man growled.

“Oh, what could you want with a drunk mute?” Marceau droned, digging the blade in enough to draw a trickle of blood. “ _Let go._ Or I’ll cut your head off.”

The next moment went by in a flash. The man threw Arthur over the small porch and whirled around at Marceau, cutting his own throat on the blade. When the man tried to gain the upperhand, Marceau slit his throat and kicked his body back. The man must not have been a very old vampire if his reaction time was so slow.

Marceau glared at the dead body resting at his feet before sighing and kicking it off the ledge. He then remembered that Arthur got flung off the deck. Cursing under his breath, he ran over to the edge and leaned over.

Arthur was laying on his back with a grimace and breathing unevenly. Marceau hopped over the waist high balcony to help him up. There was absolutely no balance anywhere in his system and he had to lean heavily on Marceau.

“Come on… You’re going to stay in my room tonight,” Marceau sighed, keeping Arthur steady. If he hadn’t gotten drunk this probably wouldn’t have happened. At least nothing happened worse than a few bumps and scrapes. Not that he could make any guesses regarding Arthur’s mental state. He definitely seemed shook up.

Arthur was as tensed as a bowstring when Marceau rested a hand on his shoulder. Before leading Arthur back in, Marceau looked over at the vampire to see that the body was starting to disintegrating(7). At least he didn’t have to deal with that. Arthur would be his only concern for the night.

Everything else was ignored as Marceau brought Arthur back in. The most important thing was to get him away from the situation and calmed down. It would be hard to tell when he’d done that since Arthur was mute. Maybe his breathing would be a good indication. Since he’d gotten tossed over the edge, Marceau hadn’t been able to hear his “voice.”

Once Marceau got Arthur to his room, he all but passed out. Marceau swore in his scramble to catch him. He sighed heavily and carefully laid him on the bed. He didn’t understand what the hell was going on. Something was going on with Arthur’s past, that was for sure. Something like that didn’t affect someone on that level without there being a history.

He would have to wait until morning for answers, though. Even if he did wake Arthur up, the chance of getting a lucid response was… low. If Arthur was even in any state to perform magic.

 

Arthur woke up with a pounding headache and shaking hands. He stared blankly at the wall in front of him while he tried to remember what happened. Other than the borderline migraine, his mind was a blur. He felt numb and desolate.

Someone shifted next to him and every muscle in his body tensed up in fearful anticipation. When he warily glanced over his shoulder, he audibly sighed upon seeing that it was just Marceau. Despite the relief, he couldn’t get rid of the tension that overtook his body. It was irrational and he knew it, but that didn’t help him any.

The past was the past, no matter what happened last night. Especially considering it was entirely his fault for getting drunk like an idiot. Something bad was bound to happen, even if Kynesgrove wasn’t the most well-traveled area in Skyrim. All the same, how was he supposed to predict that vampires would show up? And why did they have to pick that particular inn to stop in at. All his idle theorizing and bemoaning was just contributing to his migraine and didn’t serve to make him feel any better.

It was doubtful that he would feel okay for some time now that his trauma was brought to the forefront of his thoughts. Sighing quietly, he tried to sit up as slowly as possible. He didn’t want to have to talk about last night. Especially not when his head was thumping against his skull.

It was likely only due to his time spent with the Thieves Guild that Arthur was able to sneak out of the bed without hardly stirring Marceau. That time didn’t do him any good, though, when he collapsed on the floor as his knees went weak. He was trying to keep quiet, but he couldn’t help cursing when he hit the floor.

Immediately, Marceau sat up and looked down at him, eyes hazy and glazed from sleep. “Arthur…?” he rasped. “What… Are you alright…?”

His energy wasn’t there to perform magic, so Arthur silently nodded. Huffing in frustration, he pushed his bangs out of his face and slowly sat up. He didn’t dare try to stand again, though. One faceplant into the stone floor was bad enough.

There was a long moment of silence between them as Arthur brooded on the floor and Marceau struggled to broach the elephant in the room. Obviously Arthur wasn’t about to do it, supposing that he was capable of it in his state. It was debatable since he apparently couldn’t even stand for more than a couple seconds.

Finally, Marceau sighed and sat up with his legs hanging off the bed. “What… was that all about…? I get the vampires are just… vampires, but… your reaction was…” More than just normal apprehension or fear. There was something to it that was and wasn’t obvious.

The look Arthur gave him was… mournful and pleading. He was silently asking Marceau not to make him talk about it. It hurt his pride to think that he might’ve really just been begging. It hurt, but he wasn’t above it.

He could’ve pressured Arthur about it, but the chance of actually getting anything out of the man was doubtful at best. Besides, they had slept in and needed to get moving to reach Dawnstar before dark.

“Alright, you don’t have to… Right now. If anything happens again… I’m going to want answers and I’m not going to be as considerate.” It might’ve seemed harsh, but it wasn’t as though Arthur was delicate. Despite what his current state looked like, he had thick skin. He would’ve had to in order to make it in the Thieves Guild.

Two hours and a decent meal later and they were back on the road again. Arthur was back to being silent and reclusive. Marceau had thought he had made a bit of progress the day before, but one night of bad luck apparently destroyed all of it. Even if he had initially only been interested in Arthur’s necklace, he was cute and interesting. Rough around the edges, but most people were in one way or another. (Marceau wasn’t without his faults, after all.)

He would surely have to put in a lot of work to get in Arthur’s good graces to find out if it was even a possibility, but… He had put in more work for a lot less before. There was always the chance that he may just like having Arthur as a friend. It had been a long time since he’d been able to enjoy the simple “luxury” of having friends. Or having a stable place to sleep.

Maybe eventually he would get in a good place with Arthur. Perhaps they would be a permanent pair and two of the most successful thieves in the Guild. Eventually, there would be a chance for Arthur to reveal his past―and for Marceau to talk about his. And maybe―just maybe―they would take ownership of a house in Riften and both of them could sleep above the streets and in the same bed. Anything was possible.

**Author's Note:**

> 1: While Skyrim books aren't more than a couple pages in-game, they would be fairly long if they were real. I'd estimate at least 400 pages for this one.
> 
> 2: Home of the Nords. Think any Scandinavian country. Cold and unforgiving climate with a few warmer places.
> 
> 3: Home of the Bretons. Supposedly inspired by England and France, so very fitting.
> 
> 4: A city in the southeast of Skyrim. It has a warmer climate than the rest of the country, going by the terrain in-game.
> 
> 5: Organization of assassins that worship Sithis, a "god" that represents death and emptiness
> 
> 6: A race in the Elder Scrolls that is less human and more reptile.
> 
> 7: This isn't how vampires die in game, I don't think, but I'm applying for plot simplicity.
> 
>  
> 
> So obviously Arthur is a Breton (as said in the summary). I had imagine Marceau as an Imperial, but he could really be anything. Cyrodiil is no small place, after all. As for Arthur's backstory, I do know what it is. It just didn't seem natural to shove in. If anyone is interested in what was going on there, I can post it in the comments.
> 
> Whatever your opinion is on my (slightly sucky) story, thank you so much for reading it. I'm still mega-nervous about posting my work online.


End file.
